P.O.V.

From one point of view, its art, another love, and a third work. But whose is which? From mine, its art not work as no one is paying me to do this, even asking me. Even seeing it — I’m doing it for myself.

So what about: The woman who is the subject (petite objet a) of the art in the art? The boyfriend who, no doubt, is paying for the thing? And the artist in the art?

The Woman is looking at the artist, but her intent is unknown (paranoid-schizoid position). She’s holding hands with the b.f., but she’s looking at the artist. Of the b.f., all we — and the artist — can see is the possessing, perhaps loving, arm of the b.f. (nom/non du pere)

For the bought and paid for artist (selfobject) in the art, the “art” is work. By his shadow, we see him standing in front of the canvas, working (sub-optimal frustration). Consider the p.o.v. of the painting in the drawing, compared to that of what you would think the artist who is standing by the easel would see. Not eye to eye, more I to it (ego to id).

Old school psychodynamic analysis — self-analysis, that is, the real thing is too expensive — is fun. It gives me a story about all those noises I’ve heard through bedroom doors and why I feel the way I do about them. Sad to say, though, it cures nothing.